


office hours

by newseptembers



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Creampie, Dominant Ben Solo, Established Relationship, F/M, Humiliation, No Underage Sex, Power Dynamics, Professor Ben Solo, Roleplay, Shoe Humping, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Teacher-Student Relationship, ben calls rey honey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newseptembers/pseuds/newseptembers
Summary: “There’s no way you’ll reconsider?” she asks, pitching her voice a little higher, a little breathier. A little more desperate. “This is going to ruin my grade.”“You should have thought about that,” Professor Solo counters, adjusting his weight in his chair. “Before you came here and wasted both of our time.”“Please, sir. I’ll do anything, just—”His chin tilts, and she knows she’s been caught, trapped in his stare like a fish on a hook. “Anything?”— Rey wants a regrade of her essay, and she'll do whatever Professor Solo asks of her to get it.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 36
Kudos: 275





	office hours

**Author's Note:**

> *rocks up to the reylo archive four months later with a pwp* enjoy!! 
> 
> this fic is unbetaed, so apologies for any typos or inconsistencies, and please see the end notes for a more detailed explanation of the tags!

Rey knocks, once, the oak door cool against her knuckles, then pulls her hand back to smooth the fabric of her skirt against her body. Her uniform is almost perfectly regulation: white blouse, navy blue tie tied in a half-Windsor knot at the hollow of her throat, grey wool stockings that come up over the knee. If her blue plaid skirt is a few inches too short—the fabric coming to a halt at mid-thigh and exposing a scandalous swathe of bare leg—then it can be blamed on a late growth spurt, or a mistake with the washing machine. She can be a little bit careless sometimes, that’s all. 

“Come in,” he calls from behind the door, already sounding vaguely irritated even though he _asked_ her to come and see him after class. The doorknob clicks when she turns it, the lock jostling, but the door swings open soundlessly and closes behind her again with a soft _snick_. 

The air in Professor Solo’s office is… different, somehow, like they’re cut off from the outside world, in a private oasis of their own making. Maybe it’s the three walls of bookshelves, each shelf bowing under its own weight, or the dark wallpaper, or the heavy wooden desk. 

Or the man sitting behind it, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark hair brushing against his collar. 

Looking at him from her seat in the third row from the front of his class is nothing compared to this. In class, he’s constantly moving, large hands sketching diagrams in the air as he gestures his way through an explanation of Shakespeare’s literary intentions and she imagines those hands on her body. When they’re disruptive and he reprimands them, the other girls giggle when he shouts, but Rey presses her thighs together under the table, rocking her hips for a chance at friction. Being face to face with him is enough to make her breathing quicken. 

“Miss Niima,” Professor Solo says, looking her up and down, making her fidget under the weight of his gaze. She’s sure she isn’t imagining the way his eyes catch at her chest, rising and falling rapidly. “Glad you could make it.”

There’s an empty chair in front of his desk, but he doesn’t invite her to sit. 

“I’m sure I can guess why you asked for this meeting,” he continues, pulling a sheaf of papers towards them and leafing through the pile. 

Rey bites her lip, the artificial taste of her cherry lip balm cloyingly sweet on her tongue. Solo quirks one eyebrow, humming in the back of his throat. 

“My essay,” she confirms, smoothing down her skirt once more. Her fingers catch at a loose thread and she pulls it free, twining the length of it around her index finger just to have something to do with her hands.“Sir.”

Solo’s dark eyes flare, the pupils expanding almost past the warm whisky-brown of his iris. He nods, a sharp movement, and gestures to the essay at the top of the pile in front of him,a _C_ marked in mockingly bold red ink in the top right corner. “Quite a departure from your usual performance for me.”

Rey bristles, cheeks heating. “That essay deserved more than a C and you know it,” she bites out. “I’m an exemplary student—a ‘ _pleasure to have in class’_ —and I deserve a regrade.” 

Solo shifts, leaning back in his chair. The leather creaks as his weight moves, broad shoulders settling against the fabric, and he picks up her essay, scanning the front page lazily before tossing it to the side. 

“Your argument was uninspired,” he says, checking his watch like he’s bored of her already. “It was… amateur.”

He folds his arms across his chest, practically daring her to argue, and Rey takes one half-step forward, until the plaid of her skirt brushes against the front of his desk. This close, he has to tilt his face up to make eye contact with her. 

“And you should know by now, Miss Niima,” he continues, clearing his throat,“that I don’t offer regrades. Regardless of how much of a _pleasure_ you might be.”

His words are a challenge; Rey lets her eyes drop from his, skating down the pale column of throat, dotted with moles, and past his chest, the buttons of his shirt straining where they meet. Her gaze comes to rest on the expanse of his desk, boring through the table, before flicking back up to meet his, heat pooling in her stomach at the burning expression on his face. 

Rey’s sure he got the hint, but she’s not afraid to lay it on a little thicker. “There’s no way you’ll reconsider?” she asks, pitching her voice a little higher, a little breathier. A little more desperate. “This is going to ruin my grade.”

“You should have thought about that,” Professor Solo counters, adjusting his weight in his chair. “Before you came here and wasted both of our time.”

“ _Please_ , sir. I’ll do anything, just—”

His chin tilts, and she knows she’s been caught, trapped in his stare like a fish on a hook. “Anything?”

Desire pulses headily through her veins, a hot flush of emotion that leaves her spinning, and she nods, once, careful and deliberate, her hair falling over her shoulder with the movement. Solo tracks the fall of chestnut waves, and when his eyes drag across the swell of her tits Rey can’t help the slickness that pools between her thighs. 

He pushes his chair away from the desk, sliding back from the oak and spreading his legs. The dark material of his slacks is pulled taut at the crotch, the bulge of his erection clearly visible, straining against the fabric. The proof of his want for her is intoxicating—it’s not just her who’s thought about this, who’s dreamed of this. She wants him inside her, desperately, a cut-off plea catching in her throat as she chokes it down.

“Unbutton your blouse,” he orders softly, leaning back. “If you’ll do anything.” 

Rey swallows, the noise harsh in her ears. Her fingers tremble as she untucks her shirt from her uniform skirt, as she slowly unthreads her tie and lets it fall to the ground beside her. It’s not a deliberate strip tease, but Solo reacts like it is, eyes riveted to the widening strip of skin that’s slowly being revealed. 

She feels almost like there should be music playing, heavy bass making the floor shake as she strips for her Professor. 

When she reaches the valley of her breasts, his breath hitches, his hand clenching on the armrest of his chair. “No bra, Miss Niima?”

“…I don’t need one, Sir,” she murmurs, suddenly shy, her nipples drawing to tight points under her blouse. Her skin prickles under the weight of his gaze, the itch almost ticklish.

“You’ve been coming to class like this?” he asks, voice almost a growl. Leather creaks under his grip. 

Rey nods, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip. The saccharine sweetness of her lip balm is grounding, reminding her that she exists outside her body and not just as a pillar of sensation. 

“You little _slut_.” The insult is light—almost fond. It sends a shiver of pleasure through her and Rey sways forwards, knees pressing into the heavy wooden desk. 

Professor Solo pats his outstretched thigh, big hand pale across the dark fabric of his slacks. There’s a gold band on his ring finger, and it glints in the hazy light of the afternoon sun, peeking through the half-covered window. “Come here, honey.”

It’s like she’s forgotten how to walk, stuttering steps across the floor, her mary-janes toed off and abandoned at the door. She’s a doe on shaking legs, and he’s the hunter stalking his prey. 

She comes to a halt in front of him, and Professor Solo motions for her to stay still, sliding one palm around her knee and tugging her closer until she stands in between the cradle of his spread legs. His hand is so _warm_ , even through the wool of her stockings, one finger dipping underneath the fabric and tracing circles on her bare skin. 

Rey’s so wet it’s slipping down her thighs. She shouldn’t be so affected by this, just his voice, not even touching her properly, but her mind is buzzing helplessly. 

When his hand slides further up, her breath catches in her throat; he glides up the outside of her leg, fingertips brushing against the curve of her ass. He squeezes, once. 

“No panties either?”

He’s smiling, dark at the edges. If he stretched, he’d be able to touch her where she’s hot and aching for him, where she’s touched herself thinking of him. She wants him to. 

“Don’t need them,” she whispers. 

“I suppose you don’t,” Professor Solo agrees, pulling his hand back, and Rey whimpers at the loss of contact. “But I’d have liked the souvenir.”

She’d have given it freely, if he asked—would give him anything he wants right now, as long as he promises to touch her, fuck her, make her come. 

Solo looks up at her, eyes burning, and unfastens his belt. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Niima. Suck my cock like a good girl and I’ll think about re-marking your paper, okay?”

Rey doesn’t even think before she drops to her knees, Solo guiding her with a hand at her hip. When she settles beneath him, thighs spread and eyes level with his zipper, he moves to cup her face, dragging his thumb across the swell of her mouth. 

“So pretty, honey,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on now.”

She wants to, she _does_ —she’s fantasised about this, the hot weight of him in her mouth, spilling down her throat. She wants to make him happy. 

But the door isn’t locked. 

He can read her concern across her face before she voices it, pausing with his hand warm on her cheek. “What’s stopping you?” he asks, tilting his head. “Scared someone will come in? That they’ll see you being such a slut for your Professor?”

Shame licks sweetly down Rey’s spine. Her professor speaking to her like this—calling her these _names_ — shouldn’t make her blood run hot, make her want to take everything he gives her. But it does. 

She hums in agreement, leaning into his touch, and Solo’s eyes turn almost soft. “You better be quiet about it then, sweetheart, hmm?” 

“Yes, sir,” she murmurs, wetting her lips. Her tongue darts across the flesh of his thumb and Solo shudders, his eyes flickering shut as a flush spreads across the high plane of his cheekbones. They stay closed as she reaches out, undoing the button of his slacks and easing down the zipper, his only movement a shift of his hips to help her along. 

He only reacts when she reaches past the waistband of his boxer briefs to pull out his cock, already hot and hard in her hand, shiny at the tip with precum. The flush that’s spread across his cheeks deepens when she swipes her thumb across the head, and he groans gutterally at the sight of her licking the taste of him off her fingers, thigh flexing beneath her hand. 

“Miss Niima,” he grits out, threading one hand through the hair at the nape of her neck and pulling her closer. Rey wraps her hand around him in reply, shivering when her fingers barely meet, and lets herself get used to the weight of him in her palm, one finger tracing the thick vein that pulses at the underside of his cock. “Please—”

He cuts himself off with a choked-off shout when she leans down to take him in her mouth, sucking gently at the head; his hips jerk, thrusting further into her throat before she’s ready, and Rey gags a little, drool threatening to spill from the corners of her mouth. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he bites out, hand clenching in her hair. “Just relax for me, honey. Let me do the work.”

She goes limp around him, lets him push his way down her throat again, gentler this time, carefully. He finds a rhythm quickly, guiding her with the hand at her back, pushing when he wants deeper in her throat and holding her in place until she swallows around him, tongue laving at the throbbing vein as he swears above her. Every time she looks up, he meets her eyes, and the contact sends a little shock of lightning straight to her neglected clit. 

It’s easy for her to be hypnotised by the rhythm of his cock as it eases in and out of her mouth, breath puffing through her nose. Her hips work in little circles around nothing, wetness trailing down her thighs, and she moans pathetically around Professor Solo’s dick, desperate for some kind of friction but at the same time savouring the way he twitches in her mouth too much to move. 

“You need something?” he asks, tugs at the base of her neck until she looks up at him, “You need me to come in your pretty little mouth, huh?”

She _wants_ it, her hips jerking forward, and she gasps when the slickness between her thighs slides across the leather of his shoe, accompanied by a surge of mind-numbing arousal.

Solo’s eyes light up. “Miss Niima,” he breathes, adjusting his foot to press more fully between her legs. “Is that getting you off?”

It should be humiliating, rocking back and forth on her professor’s shoe, still almost fully dressed except for her open blouse, but Rey whimpers a plea into the curve of his hip, hissing when his grip on her hair tightens. The feeling is shivery-sweet, desire licking through her body as she moves against him, setting her alight. 

Solo tugs at the nape of her neck and his cock slips from her mouth, shiny with her saliva; she presses sloppy kisses to the head as she grinds against him, her jaw silently thankful for the break. The pressure of his shoe against her clit is perfect, the tension in her centre building and building, so close to throwing her over the precipice. 

“You want to come?”

“ _Please,_ ” she gasps, her movements intensifying. “Professor—I want—” She wants _him_ , inside her, filling her up—she could come like this, from the sensation of it all, kneeling in front of him like a supplicant, but she needs _more_. 

“You do, don’t you? You’re so desperate for it,” Solo murmurs. His hand moves to her cheek, stroking her, and Rey leans into the kindness like a cat. “But sluts like you aren’t satisfied until their cunts are filled with cock, hm?”

He stops her with a press at her shoulder, ignoring her pitiful whine when he shifts his stance, his shoe sliding out from between her legs. He tuts, softly. “You’ve ruined the leather, Miss Niima. It’s going to stain.”

Rey’s mind has retreated to some faraway place, but the condescension in her Professor’s voice sends her straight back to Earth, hips twitching against nothing at the realisation that people will _see_ , will look at the slick-shiny black and have no idea what caused it. She’s so close, all she needs is— 

“Up, come on,” and she’s lifted like she weighs nothing, balancing on shaking legs as Solo rearranges himself in his chair, one hand at her hip and the other circling his cock. 

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs as he guides her onto his lap, “good girl.”

Rey hovers over him, straining across the breadth of his hips. The hand on her waist slips under her skirt and traces across her leg, brushing against the apex of her thighs, his thumb tracing circles over her clit that make her whine in frustration. 

“Want to come, sir,” she mouths, her head dipping forward to loll in the crook of his shoulder, the heat of his body seeping through the fabric of their clothes. 

“I know you do, baby,” Professor Solo soothes, moving to stroke down her back. “But you came here at such a bad time—I’m a busy man, I’ve got papers to grade. You can wait just a little, can’t you? For me?”

She wants to scream, to cry, but Rey contents herself with a pitiful whimper as she rocks forward, the head of his cock notching at her entrance. “Please,” she begs, “I want—”

“You’ve been so good,” he says. “Just stay still for me.”

She _can’t,_ she has to move—but Solo moves for her, hands at her hips as he guides her down onto him. Without the help of his fingers the stretch of his cock is intense, but she welcomes the burn of it, the feeling grounding her when it would be so easy to freefall. He works her open, splitting her legs across his hips until he bottoms out and Rey bites _hard_ into the flesh of her lip. 

“That’s it,” Solo croons, petting at the curve of her hip. “Just relax.” His hand slips across her ass under her plaid skirt, teasing her where their bodies are joined, gathering the slick that she’s made for him and painting it over her clit, huffing a laugh when she twitches. 

Rey pitches forward, entire body collapsing into him as she tucks her face into his neck, inhaling his spice-and-cloves scent while she gasps for air. She can’t wait like this, impaled on the thick length of him, every inch of her crying out to move. But he wants her to. And she wants to be good. 

Professor Solo senses her settling, and he passes a warm hand down her spine, pressing a kiss to her temple. “There you go, honey. Let me work now.”

Rey doesn’t know how much time passes—it could be minutes or hours, her world narrowed to the ache in her thighs, the way she clenches around his cock when he adjusts her ever so slightly in his lap. The only sound in the office is the noise of his pen moving across pages, crossing things out, penning notes in the margins and occasionally humming his approval at a student’s argument. 

She falls into a haze, nuzzling into him and pressing her tits against his chest, the soft cotton of his dress shirt soothing her overheated skin, but every time she nearly grows complacent, he fucks up into her just a little, making her squeak and grind down into him. 

Professor Solo keeps her suspended in a blur of mindless arousal for almost longer than she can take, waiting for his work to finally, _finally_ be done—if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was going slowly on purpose, deliberately trying to drive her mad. 

But he takes pity on her eventually, even if it’s not in the way she wants. 

“Miss Niima,” he starts conversationally, clearing his throat like he isn’t buried to the hilt inside her, “you’re a smart girl. What role would you say both love and revenge play in Hamlet and Ophelia’s relationship?” 

Rey’s going to kill him—or die, whichever comes first—but as he trails off, he drops his pen and focuses on her clit, rubbing tight circles where she’s messy and aching for him. 

“Hmm?” he prompts, fingers slowing, but she can’t _think,_ not when he’s finally touching her the way she’s needed him to since she got on her knees. 

She tries, really she does, squeezing her eyes shut as she wracks her brain, but he could be asking her what two plus two equals and she wouldn’t be able to answer correctly, not with her orgasm dancing just out of reach. 

“I can’t— _Ben—”_ she breaks, grabbing at his wrist as he withdraws his hand to settle once more on her hip, barely able to resist the urge to burst into tears as her climax fades from her grasp. 

“What was that?”

His voice is sharp, grip on her hip tightening hard enough to bruise. 

“I’m sorry,” she panics, words spilling out of her, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to—I need—”

“You need to be fucked, is that it?” There’s a cruel set to his mouth that wasn’t there before, Rey tipping her head back to make eye contact, and his expression makes want pool even more intensely in her stomach. “Want me to come inside you, send you to your next class with my come dripping down your leg so everyone _knows_ who you belong to?”

He thrusts up into her to the rhythm of his words, jolting her in his lap; Rey goes boneless, letting him use her however he wants. 

“Please, sir,” she hiccups, warbling a little. “I’ve been good—”

Her thighs are burning, legs trembling underneath her, tits bouncing as he fucks her. All she wants is to come. 

“You have,” Professor Solo agrees, his thumb moving back to her clit as he snaps his hips, the chair rattling beneath them. “Maybe I’ll give you an A, honey. Since you worked so hard for it.”

Rey squirms around him, under his touch, her body coiling tighter and tighter as he pushes her closer to the edge, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck and tasting the salt of his sweat, sucking a bruise into the pale skin. “Ben,” she whimpers, tears in her eyes, “Ben, Ben, _Ben—”_

“Come on,” he continues, begging, coaxing it out of her with a press of his thumb to her clit.“ _Fuck_ —come on, Rey. Come for me.”

It’s her name on his lips that does it, unspooling around him as she cries out, wailing in his quiet office. She’s shaking with it, hips rocking rhythmically into his as she comes undone, and Ben fucks her through it, his touch veering into almost too much so that she has to push him away with feeble hands. 

“That good, hmm?” he pants once she regains her breath, hips still moving. Rey can’t answer, moaning wordlessly into the collar of his shirt, the fabric gone see through where she’s sobbed with relief. 

He’s losing control, she can tell, his thrusts losing their pattern, nothing more than grinding up into her as she clenches around him; Ben wraps one thick arm around her waist and crushes her to him, jerking once, twice as he come with a low groan, heat flooding deep inside her.

They don’t move for a long moment, Ben’s softening cock slipping out of her along with a rush of come, but all he does is reach down, gathering it up with two fingers and pushing the mess back inside, patting her ass lazily with his free hand. “Like I promised,” he mumbles, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Think you broke me, baby.”

Rey giggles a little hysterically, stretching up to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I should head to my next class then, _Professor,”_ she teases, squeaking when Ben hugs her to him once again. 

“I thought you liked that,” he says, one eye cracking open. 

“You were very convincing,” she agrees solemnly, cupping his jaw. She shifts on his lap, legs groaning in protest, but she can’t bring herself to move just yet. “Makes me worry about you with all those freshmen girls.” 

Ben scoffs, shaking his head. “The wedding ring scares them all off,” he argues, and Rey’s laugh bubbles out of her. 

“You forgot to take it off, Ben,” she says, wiggling her bare left hand at him, her rings safely tucked away in her bedside table. “You nearly ruined my immersion.”

He laughs too, real and genuine, catching her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “I haven’t since the day you put it on me, sweetheart,” he tells her, leaning in to brush more kisses against her cheek, her nose, her mouth. “But I’ll remember that for next time.” 

Rey grins, her happiness a bubble in her chest. “And maybe next time I can shoot for an A+—but my professor is _very_ demanding.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ben and Rey are roleplaying a student/professor scenario—in this universe, they’re in a relationship with established safewords and knowledge of each other's boundaries. It’s not mentioned in the text, but Rey has an IUD/some other form of birth control too. 
> 
> Please let me know if there is anything that hasn’t been tagged that you think should be!
> 
> I’m taking a break from twitter as of posting this fic, but usually I can be found @bensreys :-) lmk what you think and feel free to check out any of my other works as well!


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